Hibiscus
by amongthewaiting
Summary: AH/AU.  A story about heartbreak, love and second chances.
1. Barely Breathing

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, playing on Charlaine Harris' playground does not give me ownership rights. Rated M for language and later lemons. **

**1. Barely Breathing…**

_ Okay Sookie. Deep breath. _

It ended up taking five more of those breaths to settle me enough for my hand to stop trembling as I reached for the doorknob. The door swung inward to reveal a glaringly average conference room. The step I took forward lost me the calm all that damn breathing had gained. There were two men in the room. On a normal day, my gaze would have struck immediately to the six-foot-five blonde god in the Armani suit standing closest to the far windows. But today was not a normal day. The other man in the room looked like your run-of-the-mill lawyer type, complete with the requisite expensive suit, designer shoes, eighty dollar haircut, and default smug expression. Both men turned when the door opened.

"Ms. Stackhouse," the dark-haired lawyer said as he extended his hand to shake mine and offered a wide smile.

"Mr. Cataliades. How are you today?"

"I'm well, thank you. Now that you and Mr. Northman are both here, let us begin."

When his name was mentioned, he couldn't be ignored anymore. Eric. My husband… or, in about twenty minutes, my ex-husband. I'd known his eyes were following me before, his gaze feeling like a burden on the back of my head, but I didn't trust myself to turn my whole body toward him without betraying every ounce of longing I carried for him and throwing myself at his feet. The small glimpse out of the corner of my eye forced my heart to clench and soon that one glance wasn't enough. I don't know who I was trying to fool. One glance would never be enough. He'd always been the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. I did what I swore I wouldn't and raked my eyes over his body from bottom to top. Unashamedly staring. He was wearing the shoes he hated, the ones he wore to his father's funeral 3 years ago and vowed never to wear again. They matched the custom charcoal grey suit covering his frame. The cobalt blue flecks in his tie brought attention to the cobalt blue in his eyes… and what I saw there hurt me more than all the rest. It had taken me quite awhile to get past the tough outer shell he shows the world. He always has to be the consummate businessman, never out of control. I'd broken his "calm and calculating" mask in half and never thought I'd see it directed at me again. The eyes that had expressed so much love and joy in the early years of our marriage were closed to me now. The mask was back with a vengeance.

"So you both agree to the terms we've worked out. Let's review briefly and then the only thing left is for you to sign these and I'll submit them to the courts."

Eric's gaze still held mine so I think I nodded subtly but I can't be sure. The rustling of paper brought me out of my reverie. I sat in the hard-backed chair closest to my left and Eric took that as his cue to take his place across from me. I listened as Mr. Cataliades outlined the division of mine and Eric's life together. The apartment Eric brought me home to after our honeymoon stays with me… the bar where we met stays with him… the vacation house in Sweden to him… I kept my new Lexus… the list went on and on.

_ How did I get here?_

When we met seven years ago, I'd never have imagined myself a 32-year-old woman, seconds away from being divorced from the love of her life.

Of course, as I'd found many, many times in my life, the answer to my question was in Eric's eyes.

My deepest, darkest fear had been realized. Eric was tired of me.

It was no secret that he'd led a fast life before we met. Women fell at his feet, employees jumped to do his bidding, business associates went out of their way to accommodate him and he brushed through it all unaffected. I was probably the first woman not to worship at the altar of Eric immediately and that intrigued him. He rose to the challenge and convinced me he felt something genuine. He promised he didn't miss his old life multiple times and meant it. At the time. But who can predict such things?

It's been almost 2 years since he started staying late at the bar instead of coming home before I fell asleep. Soon after, he began to forget to call when he'd be staying. On the nights I did see him, our conversations were often strained. His mind was elsewhere and I knew it. The only times I had his complete attention were when we made love. I craved those times like an addict in withdrawal.

Eventually our verbal exchanges whittled down to the necessities and nothing more. So a year ago, I made the most difficult decision I've ever faced and asked Eric for a divorce.

We'd just finished our second round of sex that night. I blurted the words out quickly, thinking it was then or never. He was my ultimate weakness and my nerve was failing. He obviously wanted his freedom back and I was going to give it to him, no matter what it did to me. I'll carry the image of his shocked expression with me to the grave. I couldn't stop a small flicker of hope to ignite when he silently stared at me for several moments. Would it really be too much to wish he'd refuse?

Then that damned cold mask slid into place and his personality detached from his eyes as he whispered "Okay."

My heart fell to my stomach like lead. I furiously pushed back my tears and barely voiced my own "Okay." Eric got up from the bed and put his boxers back on. He exited the room, leaving me naked, vulnerable, and alone to surrender to the pain. Even thinking about the moment I watched him disappear through the door caused a hitch in my breath. I didn't realize I'd made a sound until Mr. Cataliades' voice tore me out of the memory.

"Are you alright, Ms. Stackhouse?"

"Hmm? Oh. Yes. Sorry."

"I just need a few signatures from you. One copy for you, one for Mr. Northman, and one for the courts."

"Yes, of course," I said, taking the offered pen from him.

I signed quickly, hoping to minimize the shaking in my hand. After witnessing Eric's signatures, I thanked Mr. Cataliades and rushed to the door. By the grace of God, I made it out of the room before the first tear fell.

o-o

I didn't even make it to the elevator. I slumped against the wall just outside Cataliades & Associates and fumbled around my handbag for the tissues I'd shoved in earlier.

Hitting pay dirt, I pulled them out and wiped furiously underneath my eyes. I took a couple of "mediation breaths", briefly wondering if all this oxygen was doing more than just making me lightheaded. By the time I heard my phone ring, I had pulled myself together enough to answer it.

Sam.

There would always be a soft spot in my heart for my old boss but the feelings he's had for me for years had strained our relationship almost too far.

"Hey Sam."

"How ya doin', chere?"

"I'm just leaving my lawyer's office."

"Aw shit, Sook. That was today? I was just callin' to see if you wanted to meet me at Laf's for coffee."

The part of me that wanted to go home, close the curtains, and shut the day out almost won but that was no beginning for the rest of my life.

"Sure. I can meet you in 10 minutes. I'm just down the street."

"Actually I'm coming up on you now. Sit tight and I'll meet you in front of the building."

"Okay. See you then."

I closed my phone and had just enough time to check my face in my compact for tearstains while taking the elevator down to the lobby. As I stepped out into the sunshine, Sam was rounding the corner of the building. He offered his warmest smile when I fell in step with him on our way to our friend Lafayette's bakery.

The sun backlit Sam's head, making his hair look like a strawberry-blonde halo. The hint of what can only be described as baby fat on his cheeks was the only soft part on him. Lifting cases of beer at his bar, Merlotte's, has done his body good. Back when I waitressed for him in my early 20s, we could have had something. He was sweet and always there for me when I needed him. I know I had feelings for him for awhile when we first met. But he never made his feelings clear until after I met Eric. Typical.

"You holdin' up okay, chere?"

I pulled out a smile.

"Yeah. Don't worry about me, Sam. I'll be alright."

"I'm your friend, Sook. That's part of the job."

He slung his arm around my shoulders and lightly squeezed.

"So how's the bar business?"

He launched into a story about his distributors and I let my thoughts wander. I hoped I was smiling and mhmm-ing at the right moments. My heart would have been into listening on any day but today. Lafayette's slightly garish storefront came into view right as Sam's story was ending. For anyone who cared to notice, the purple sequins that bordered the awning were the perfect preview of the man inside.

A cup of dark roast coffee and one of Laf's ginormous red velvet cupcakes may be exactly what I need.

**AN: Reviews are shiny. They make me happy. This is my first attempt at a multi-chapter fic... Please let me know if you'd like me to continue posting this!**


	2. With a Broken Heart

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, playing on Charlaine Harris' playground does not give me ownership rights. Rated M for language and lemons.**

**AN: Happy Mother's Day, all! **

**This chapter is a bit of a review. A lot of you have commented on the sad nature of the last chapter and I'm just giving y'all a friendly warning that this'll be much of the same. It is a necessary evil but hopefully you'll all stick with me… I promise it gets better!**

**2. …With a Broken Heart**

My eyes roamed my wife immediately when the door opened.

_Okay Eric. Deep breath. _

Gods, she is still the most beautiful thing in my orbit. The sunlight from the window bounced off the golden curls I longed to run my fingers through. She had just enough makeup to emphasize those bright blue eyes and create a need to claim those full pink lips and never release them. As she was pointedly not looking at me, I took the time to feast my sight on the rest of her body. The navy business skirt and blazer she wore accentuated her substantial breasts and tiny waist. She is like a fantasy woman and, until today, she'd been my reality.

Our lawyer greeted her with her maiden name and my hand twitched, aching to wrap around his throat as I growled "Her name is Northman." But my hand stayed still and my voice stayed silent.

She exchanged pleasantries with the lawyer, putting all those quaint Southern manners to good use. When he mentioned me, her gaze finally caught mine. Her eyes took me in from the bottom up and I took small satisfaction in still being able to turn her head. I'd fretted over what to wear like a teenage girl this morning. What do you wear to the end of everything good in your life as you know it?

She took a seat at the mahogany table and I took mine in front of her. Her attention was on Cataliades now but mine was still on her. The woman sitting in front of me with the hollow eyes and slumped shoulders wasn't my feisty Sookie. Something was broken inside her. And it was me who'd broken it. I don't know when it happened, or even how, but the truth stared at me in the form of _my_ Sookie's soulful expression.

Most people wouldn't be able to point to the minute their life crumbled to pieces. My moment came about 45 seconds after the word "divorce" fell from my lover's lips. My gut reaction to her request was "MINE!" and I started to tell her so. I would have happily proved my claim if not for the defeated expression on her face. It forced me to look closer. What I saw slapped me in the chest, in the general region of my heart, and it was like I was seeing her for the first time. She was tired. And not just in-need-of-a-nap tired. There was a weariness in her eyes and on her face that made her seem like she'd lived a thousand years. It was then I realized I wasn't making her happy. Everything I'd done… everything I'd given to provide for her… and it wasn't enough. I failed her. The worst part was that I didn't know how to fix it. In all my years of business, I'd always been able to discern a clear path to my goal but this baffled me. So I did what I'd never been able to resist before. I gave Sookie what she wanted.

I remember gathering my clothes and leaving the house. I remember closing the door to the hotel suite I rented. The following week, however, is a fuzzy haze. I spent that week with any and every combination of my new best friends: Jack Daniels, Johnny Walker and Jose Cuervo.

Pam was the one to pull me out of my drunken stupor. My little sister can be downright demanding when she wants to be. The brat had somehow found out where I was and finagled an extra room key from the front desk. Her oh-so-subtle greeting was to slam the door hard enough for the walls to shake. Or maybe all the pounding was coming from the inside of my head… I can't be sure. She took in the half empty bottles scattered around and promptly proceeded to dump the rest of their contents into the bathroom sink. Through half-opened lids I tracked her favorite pink Jimmy Choo's until they stopped in front of the couch I'd made my home and tapped the floor impatiently.

"_What the hell are you laying around here for?"_

_You know, sometimes I wonder why Pam never went into public relations. She has such a gentle touch._

"_Fuck you," came my gruff reply. The burn of the alcohol and a week of disuse had transformed my voice into something even I didn't recognize. I cleared my throat and tried again._

"_Go away, Pamela."_

"_Go back to her."_

"_I can't."_

"_Never thought I'd live to hear the great Eric Northman say he couldn't do something," she snorted. She evidently had decided to stay so she perched herself on the armchair across the room and crossed her legs at the ankle, looking every bit the picture of a blonde Jackie O. Or, as Sookie always said, Alice in Wonderland._

"_I told you this would happen," she stated, referring to the time she ambushed me in my office at the bar and demanded I listen to her. She'd then proceeded to insist I go home and spend time with Sookie. "She misses you," Pam said as she closed my office door. My mind couldn't process that. Sookie missed me? We lived together. We had sex almost every night. Pam didn't know what she was talking about. I'd put the whole encounter from my mind and went back to concentrating on the acquisition papers for an up-and-coming nightclub on the other side of Shreveport. I don't know why she had to bring that conversation up now unless it was to rub salt in my fresh wounds._

"_You don't understand."_

"_I'm quite certain I understand better than you."_

_Had I the energy, I would have laughed. Or thrown one of the empty bottles at her head._

"_Well then enlighten me, oh wise one."_

"_You both need to get your heads out of your asses long enough to realize divorce isn't the answer. Get off your ass and do something."_

"_Duly noted."_

"_Eric…" she started._

"_What, Pam? What do you want me to say? I worked my ass off EVERY DAY to give her a good life, so she'd never want for anything. And it __wasn't fucking enough__. She's not happy anymore." I slumped even further into the couch, drained from the speech, and closed my eyes._

"_Listen to what you're saying. Sookie would live in a wooden hut on the border of Never-Gonna-Find-It-ville with you if you asked her to. It would be damn close to that backwater she grew up in."_

"_That's why she deserves all I can give her! She had nothing growing up and she still turned out so loving and generous. She deserves _more _than I can give her."_

_I heard Pam sigh and move toward the door._

"_All work and no play make Eric a whiny ass. You don't get to play the martyr when one word from you would fix this whole thing. Think about what I said and call me when you realize I'm right," were her parting words._

Wonderful to see you too, sis.

_The next time I woke from my muddled sleep, her words rang in my head. _Get off your ass and do something.

_So I showered, changed my clothes, and called my lawyer._

The months that led me here were wrought with strained lawyer meetings and discussions of property. I wanted my bar and my Corvette. Everything else she could have. This, of course, ruffled Sookie's feathers as she insisted we at least divide everything fairly.

I brought myself back to the present and looked around the room where we currently sat. It just didn't seem right. But that is the way it is. If this is what it took for Sookie to be happy, then so be it.

Watching her sign the dotted line with such decisiveness felt like a fist closing over my heart, crushing the life out of me. I didn't know I'd held out the small hope she'd change her mind until it extinguished the moment the pen left the paper. I wanted to beg her to stay and to throw myself at her feet and clutch her waist like a small child. But my legs wouldn't budge and all words died on my lips.

There was no other woman for me. I knew that.

So how was I letting her go?

o-o

Before the ink was dry on the papers, Sookie was out the door. That was it? The end of our marriage? It was so… unsettling.

Cataliades gathered his things quietly and exited the room after a numb handshake from me. I don't know how long I stayed after he left.

I stared holes into the conference table until a secretary stumbled upon me. Surprise showed on her expression as she excused herself and all but ran away.

_Get a hold of yourself, Northman._

I'd love to drink myself into oblivion right about now but duty calls. Someone had to receive an alcohol shipment at the bar and two new waitresses had to be hired to cope with the weekend crowds. Calling Pam for help before 11 am would only earn me a "go fuck yourself" and the sound of a dial tone in my ear.

I was pointedly not thinking about Sookie down the hallway, in the elevator, and through the parking garage. I followed the chirp of my car alarm disengaging and slid behind the wheel. The roar of the engine eased my tension like nothing else. I could control this gorgeous piece of machinery, even if I couldn't control my life. I sped out of the parking lot, forcing the tires to squeal only slightly more than necessary and headed toward the bar.

Of all the properties I managed and the businesses I owned, Loki's Playground was my baby. The name was an homage to my Viking heritage and the god known for mischief. I bought the space 8 years ago with a specific idea in mind. I needed a "headquarters". One central place to manage all my holdings and meet with business associates. I was twenty-eight at the time and couldn't stand the idea of confining myself to a nondescript office in a random building. As luck would have it, my new business venture coincided with Pam becoming restless in Minnesota and needing to "escape that frozen shithole." She immediately took charge of the design aspect and steered the ambiance to walk the fine line between comfort and chic. Given her personal preferences, I was surprised the walls ended up a warm burgundy instead of some oppressive pastel nightmare. We must be doing something right; we were still filling to capacity almost a decade later. In those 8 years of nights, there is only one that stands out in my mind: the night Sookie walked in wearing that white and red flowered dress (the one that still caused my hard-on to stand up and take notice). I would later learn her friend Amelia had become friends with Pam and begged her repeatedly to check the place out. Her waves of blonde hair caught my eye as soon as she stepped through the door. Not that blonde hair was out of the ordinary in the age of bleached and emaciated Barbie-wannabes. This was something different. Natural. Refreshing.

When she and her brunette friend took a seat in one of the booths along the wall, I immediately flagged down a waitress and comped their drinks for the night. I knew the moment she was told her order was on the house. Her eyes shot up to pierce mine with just a hint of defiance. I put on my best panty-melting smirk and waited for her to approach me. I was a little more than intrigued when it was twenty minutes later and she still hadn't moved from her seat. I do love a challenge. I decided a change in tactic was in order and climbed out of my own booth to approach her. Her eyes widened slightly as I rose to my full six-foot-five. Point for me. When it became clear where I was headed, her chin lifted almost imperceptively and she faced me dead on.

Now, I don't remember exactly what was said after our eyes locked but I'm guessing it was something inane and possibly a little vulgar given that her expression changed to one of contempt. She thanked me politely for the drinks and I apparently had my dismissal.

I nodded once and returned to my booth to wonder where I failed. I was still watching her and thinking a half hour later, an unheard of record for me, when Pam stopped at her table and pecked the other one on the cheek.

When Sookie and her friend stood to leave, my strategy to get into her good graces hadn't progressed beyond the fact that the things that worked on the simpering, pathetic women who frequented Loki's probably wouldn't work on her.

I had never been one to believe in love at first sight, being more of the "love 'em and leave 'em" philosophy, but I know that was the night I put myself on her hook and waited for her to reel me in. Of course, I didn't know that _then_.

A few blocks away from the bar, my eye caught a woman on the sidewalk walking by my favorite café. I'd recognize the gentle sway of her hips anywhere. Unfortunately, I also recognized the man with his arm around her shoulder, hiding his love for her in the friendly gesture as only a true piss-ant could. Sam-goddamn-Merlotte. The fucker didn't even wait an hour to plot his move. He took his cues from too many B-rated movies where the loser best friend waits in the wings for the girl of his dreams to realize he's everything she's ever looked for. _That's not how real life works, buddy._ The hand not touching my Sookie started moving wildly, probably telling her about some redneck fight in his out-of-the-way bar like it was the most exciting thing ever to happen to him. Hell, maybe it was. Sookie laughed and the memory of the sound mocked me, reminding me that he got to hear the real thing. But I know his smiles never reached her eyes the way mine did… and that's the only reason I've allowed him to keep the current arrangement of his face for so long.

I turned the corner, pressed on the gas pedal a little harder, and blasted "Burning Down the House" by The Used through the speakers.

I was so caught up in the seething mess of my head that I barely saw the SUV speeding my way.

**AN #2: Chapter 3 is already written… if I participated in Teaser Mondays on the Sookieverse forums, would anyone be interested?**

**Review time! Please and thank you!**


	3. Ain't That A Bitch

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, playing on Charlaine Harris' playground does not give me ownership rights. Rated M for language and lemons.**

**AN: So I had a little trouble with review replies the last time around… I don't know what was up but I couldn't reply directly from the emails I was sent. :S Hopefully you all got your answers when I found a way around it but if I missed anyone I'm sorry! Your response has been so great, I'd hate to think someone went unacknowledged!**

**3. Ain't That a Bitch**

It is a sad day when the 'death stare' no longer works on your friends. And I accompany mine with an expression that would have stopped Charles Manson in his tracks. Regular patrons at Loki's have been known to quake in fear when there is the slightest possibility of being on its receiving end. Yet Amelia Broadway was calmly sitting across the kitchen and I suspect she was giving me her weak version right back. Every bridal magazine available at the Borders on the other side of Shreveport lay open to the pages I deemed appropriate. I also cleaned the office supply store out of pink, yellow, and blue Post-It flags. According to Dear Abby on Planning Your Wedding, organization is essential.

The tense silence in the room was only broken by the rustling of catalogue pages as we thumbed through them. Amelia's father is a big name in the construction business. He's using his daughter's wedding as a venue to impress clients so the whole day has to be extravagant and the complete opposite of Alcide and Amelia's taste. The fact that Alcide's family owned Herveaux and Son, the 2nd biggest name in New Orleans construction, had him strutting around prouder than a cock in the henhouse. Copely Carmichael (Amelia took her mother's maiden name to avoid association with the man) hired his usual party planner and the woman needed only three things from Amelia: her and her bridesmaids' dresses, a color theme, and her and Alcide's personal invitees.

All other details and decisions were "nothing to concern herself over". I've never seen Ame want to hex someone so much. She demanded I prevent her from murder at the same time she asked me to be her maid of honor.

Amelia's fiancé was less than helpful. He was sitting with us, glassy-eyed and opinion-less, until Danzig's "Killer Wolf" ringtone blared from his back pocket and he took a phone call on the porch looking like a drowning man thrown a rope.

Alcide Herveaux is a gorgeous mountain of muscle, in that rugged, masculine way. It's clear he works with his hands and, if he had a vicious bone in his body, he could snap trees into kindling. He and Amelia are so different I'm not sure what the attraction is but he's a lot better than that pussy she used to date. Bob… something.

"This one has possibilities." Her voice was tense like she was waiting for me to tell her the dress was tacky and must have been designed by a blind Project Runway reject. I only did that once, I swear. But this one actually did stand a chance. It was a Vera Wang strapless satin gown, with a fitted bodice and a tulle skirt. It wasn't the traditional white but then, Ame wasn't the traditional bride. I was just about to tell her so when my own cell rang.

"Ravenscroft."

"Hello, is this Pamela Ravenscroft?"

"Yes."

"Ms. Ravenscroft, this is Kelly at Willis-Knighton Medical Center. You are listed as one of the emergency contacts for Eric Northman and I can't seem to get in touch with his wife."

A quick look at the clock on the wall and I decided to sidestep the "wife" part. I guess I couldn't blame the perky brat for not knowing the divorce papers had probably been signed not even an hour ago.

"Has something happened?"

"Mr. Northman was involved in a car accident this afternoon."

"Is he hurt?"

At this, Amelia's face morphed from weak curiosity to shock. Under other circumstances I would have laughed at her attempt to hide how frustrated she still was with me and listen in.

"There isn't much information I can give you at the moment. He is in the emergency room now but does not seem to need surgery. By the time you get here, he'll have been moved to our Intensive Care Unit. All other questions will have to be addressed by the doctor."

"Is he critical?"

"No, Ms. Ravenscroft, he does not seem to be but, again, the doctors will be able to tell you more. Do you need directions to our campus?"

"No. Thank you for calling."

"Alright, now when you arrive, just come straight up to the 4th floor."

I hate hospitals.

The unnatural silence of the ward made the click of my Louboutin heels seem booming.

I hate hospitals.

Everything from the antiseptic smell to the sick people with their germs turns my stomach.

When I reached the 4th floor reception area, I found yet another reason to hate hospitals. "Kelly" was nothing more than a rotund volunteer with a smile full of metal and a face full of zits. She couldn't have been more than 18 years old.

"I'm looking for Eric Northman."

Her smile faltered subtly and her eyes changed to resemble sympathy. Like I need that.

"He's right over there in Room 7, hon." _Hon?_ "Are you Ms. Ravenscroft?"

"I am."

"Alrighty. I'll page the doctor to come speak with you. You go ahead in and sit with him."

I followed her hand gesture toward Room 7 and slowly turned the handle. This room was even more barren than the hallway. The walls were a nauseating shade of yellow. Furniture and equipment were sparse and overly organized. Eric's bed was the furthest from the door and the neighboring bed was empty. I made my way to the cushioned chair closest to the window and resisted the urge to find someone to wipe it down. The only sound in the room was the steady beat of the heart monitor.

It was then that I forced myself to look closely at Eric. A pang of recognition tingled down my spine. It wasn't enough Eric was the spitting image of our father but now I'd have twin images of both of them in hospital beds with the life all but drained from their faces.

He looked like HELL.

He'd look like he was sleeping if not for the deathly pallor, the cast on his leg and what looked like stitches near his hairline. Just like Dad, it was unnerving to see an unstoppable force like Eric look so frail. Without the ever-present smirk he almost looked… innocent.

One quick knock is all that preceded the abrupt entrance of what can only be described as a hobbit in a lab coat.

"Ms. Ravenscroft. I'm Dr. Amy Ludwig, the neurologist on your brother's case." The barely 3 foot woman nodded curtly. "The extent of Mr. Northman's external injuries are the hairline fracture on his left leg and the laceration on his head. There is no internal bleeding. He seems to have hit is head in the crash and was unconscious at the scene. The MRI shows some swelling but not enough for major concern. It is most likely that he'll wake up with a headache. Barring unforeseen complications, he'll start to rouse when the shock to his body wears off. This should be within the next 24 hours. We'll need to keep him in the ICU until that time and evaluate him again when he wakes. Any questions you have can be directed to the nurse or you can have her page me."

"Do you have any details of the crash?"

"I know he was damn lucky. The other car clipped his front end so he just went for a little spin. Other than that, that's a question for the police, little girl."

_Little girl? That's comical since she'd be on par with a garden gnome. Clearly she skipped Bedside Manner 101. _

One eyebrow rose to show my displeasure but she took no notice. Maybe I really am losing my touch.

"The nurse knows to page me when he wakes," she called on her way out.

Now that I had assurances that Eric's life was not in danger from someone other than the poster child for high school chess clubs everywhere, I pulled the bridal magazines out of my purse and continued my pursuit of a flattering bridesmaids dress. Taffeta and I are not, and will never be, on speaking terms.

Four magazines later the door opened again... I braced myself for round two with Dr. Congeniality. My eyes shifted toward the door and met with Sookie's hips. She leaned on the door frame like she was still debating whether or not she was really here.

"Hi Pam," she said faintly.

"Sookie," I returned. "I'm glad you're here to hold the building upright. I was worried."

A blush covered her cheeks as she too a step into the room, letting the door close softly behind her. She was still white-knuckling her handbag like a lifeline though. As soon as she caught sight of Eric, her eyes filled with tears.

"How is he?"

"The doctor says he should be fine. His leg's broken but no internal bleeding. He has a slight concussion from hitting his hard head but most of the damage will be to his ego when he sees the bruises on his pretty face."

"Pam," she chastised quietly. "This isn't funny."

I looked into her haunted eyes and softened my voice. "He'll be fine, Sookie. We won't let him be anything else."

Her eyes slipped shut as a small sigh escaped. "There was a message for me on my voice mail when I got home… I just needed to… to see him." Her voice drifted off and she took a half step back toward the door. I caught the moment of pure longing when she glanced toward Eric's bed.

"Are the divorce papers signed?"

Her eyes widened almost comically before her expression settled on "hurt bunny".

"Yes."

I stood and set my magazine on my seat. I set her handbag down next to it and took both her hands in mine. Her engagement ring pressed into my palm.

"Sookie. Level with me. Why are you doing this to each other?"

She couldn't, or wouldn't, look me in the eyes anymore.

"Pam," she sighed. "It's complicated."

"Try me."

"We just aren't on the same page now that we were when we got married."

"Bullshit. You love each other more than you ever did. That's not something to just throw away."

"You can't know that," she sniffled. One tear paved the way for more to stream down her cheeks. I regretted making her cry but trying to untwist the logic of their break-up was making me a little crazy. She moved to pick up her handbag and tried to give me a watery smile.

"Leave it alone, Pam. It's better this way."

I admitted defeat in this battle and gave her a quick hug. I reached behind her to grab a tissue and held it out.

"Please refrain from leaking on my shoes." I could feel the smirk Eric and I both inherited from our father creeping onto my face.

A sharp laugh echoed through the room and she gave her head a little shake. And there was the smile I wanted.

"I should go anyway." Her face dropped and she looked down at her hands. She spun her engagement ring around her finger nervously. A _lesser_ person would comment on her evident inability to part with it. And, to think, Eric says I have no restraint. Then, with one last look toward the bed, she turned to leave. She made it across the room, with one hand on the door knob, and then hesitated.

I barely heard her whisper "please don't tell him I was here" before she was gone. I dropped myself back in the chair, at a loss.

_Idiots. A perfectly matched pair of stubborn idiots._

**Review time! Please and thank you!**


	4. Into the Light

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, playing on Charlaine Harris' playground does not give me ownership rights. Rated M for language and lemons.**

**AN: All of my medical knowledge comes from Wikipedia and **_**Grey's Anatomy**_**. Anyone who knows better, please forgive me!**

**4. Into the Light…**

_This blackness was empty and cold. It even had an echo. I almost preferred it to the other periods of bright light and pain. Unfortunately, those were increasing in frequency and length. The only thing that kept me fighting for them was the brief instant I thought I heard Sookie's voice. The blackness couldn't be as good as advertised if Sookie was elsewhere. _

_It's hard to find your way in a sea of nothingness. There wasn't a single thing to anchor me or give me a sense of direction. I could have been walking in circles for all I know. Every step became shorter and more sluggish until I was sure I wasn't making much progress at all. I was moving through slowly drying concrete and I could not muster the strength or energy needed to maintain a grip on myself._

_It was just so exhausting. Eventually I had to let the darkness take control once more._

_Fuck. _I promise, here and now, to never drink so much again. This hangover's hardly worth any hours of blissful ignorance there may have been.

_Where the hell am I and whose car alarm keeps going off? _I tried opening one eye and immediately regretted it. You know when you first wake up from a deep sleep and that first jolt of reality is literally painful? Multiply that by 20. I felt like someone used my head as a bowling ball. I lifted my hand to scratch the sleep from my eyes. It felt like I was moving through mud. Unfortunately, the feeling was familiar. Shit. Jason had better not have convinced my drunktarded ass to camp in the swamp behind his house. AGAIN. I still have nightmares about those fist-sized vampires they call mosquitoes down here. How could I have let myself drink enough to I forgot the number one rule of hanging with my asshat brother-in-law? Never NEVER consume enough to take his suggestions. I took another shot at opening my eyes when something on the back of my hand scratched me.

_What the hell?_

I stared at the IV stuck in me for what felt like hours. And, apparently, that car alarm was actually a heart monitor. It was like floating, suspended in water, then being jerked under. Once I resurfaced, all my senses returned in force. The smell was overpowering. Everything had been scrubbed and bleached until not even the cheery yellow walls could compensate for the dissociation I felt in this environment. The hollowness ensured nothing could distract from your grief and worry. I was in one of those crappy paper-y hospital gowns on crappy hospital sheets. I could almost feel myself starting to itch.

"If you wanted some time off, you could have just asked." Oh goody. Pam's here.

"Pa-" I couldn't even finish that thought without coughing. And my whole body wracked with pain when I did. Pam got out of her chair in the corner and moved to hold a cup of water to my lips. She even did it without an eye roll too. Score.

"Pam, what the hell?" I guess this raspy voice is as good as it's gonna get for now. "Why am I in the hospital?"

A strange look crossed her face. "You don't remember?"

"No Pam. What. Happened."

She put her hand on mine and, if I didn't know any better, she might have been trying to give me a sympathetic look. _Shit. Maybe I'm dying._

"Eric, you were in a car accident. I'll page the nurse…"

"In a minute. Tell me what happened."

"The police haven't been by with details on the accident yet. I don't really know what happened. They should be on their way. Your leg's broken and you have a concussion but the doctor can explain better than me. Let me find her."

"Pam, where's Sookie? She wasn't in the car with me, was she?"

There's that strange look again. "… No."

"Is she on her way?"

"No, Eric," she paused. "I don't think so." The wariness in her voice elongated all her words.

If I didn't need the information she seemed reluctant to give, I would have snarled at her.

"You are wearing my patience, Pamela." I shot her a look that hopefully conveyed my annoyance. "Why isn't she coming? Have you called her?"

"She knows. I guess she just isn't sure you would want to see her."

"Why the _hell_ wouldn't I want to see my wife?"

"Your wife?"

I felt like I was speaking to an exceptionally slow child.

"Yes, my wife. Did _you _hit your head too?"

"Eric," she practically whispered. "You don't remember signing your divorce papers this morning either?"

"WHAT?" I barely waited a second before yelling again, not leaving her any time to even try to respond. "Fuck Pam! Does now seem like the right time for one of your little jokes?"

I watched her face ping-pong between dread and horror. My outburst must have caught the attention of the nurse's station since one timidly popped her head into the room. Once seeing me awake she entered fully and smiled calmly.

"Mr. Northman, please relax. You've just been through a traumatic accident. You don't want to excite yourself so soon."

I barely registered her words and couldn't care less when she adjusted my IV and wrote on the chart at the foot of my bed. Nothing mattered beyond watching the tears fill my sister's eyes. Pam thought her own jokes were HI-larious. But she'd never crossed the line like this before. My mind screamed "LIAR". The mere thought that I would divorce Sookie was preposterous. But that nagging feeling in my gut told me Pam would never joke about this. She might poke at the line repeatedly, like you aren't supposed to do with a sleeping bear, but she'd never seriously contemplate crossing it. Thoughts raced through my consciousness faster than I could follow, making my head throb even harder. The only discernable feelings were confusion and fear. The pounding in my ears drowned out the escalating rhythm of the heart monitor. A lesser man probably would have hyperventilated.

I searched my brain for anything that indicated which alternate universe I'd been dropped into. I searched all through the nurse's check-up. I was still searching while Pam interrogated her, demanding to know why I had no recollection of the day. I was still searching when the nurse left to page the doctor, her face a little more agitated than when she came in. The longer I searched and came up empty, the more aggravated I became. Pam watched me like falling prices at a shoe sale but, thankfully, didn't say a word. I can't be sure how long it took for the doctor to appear. She pushed the door open with authority. That authority was undermined when she needed to use a step stool to be bed-level.

"Good. You're awake."

She introduced herself as Dr. Ludwig while she checked my vitals and shined her penlight in my eyes.

"Alright. Can you tell me your full name?"

"Eric Northman."

"Do you know your father's name?"

"Appius."

"What's the last thing you remember?"

The smallest bits and pieces started to orient themselves by then.

"I was… in my office at Loki's," I said hesitantly. "The last thing I remember is checking the liquor order."

"And what is today's date?"

"The order's due on the 15th so the 13th. November 13th."

My first sign that was the wrong answer was the gasp heard from the far corner where Pam was. The second clue was the subtle knit of the doctor's eyebrows.

"And what year is it?"

"2007."

Her brows furrowed deeper and she began to write an epic poem on my chart. She pushed the call button near my head and looked me in the eyes. In what I assumed was her "gentle" voice she started speaking.

"Mr. Northman, when we did you initial MRI we detected some swelling near the temporal lobe of your brain. In a small amount of trauma cases like this, one of the results is memory loss. There is no easy way to hear this so I'm going to tell it to you straight. It is not 2007. Today is February 17th, 2011…"

Everything fell away but that date. I didn't hear anything else the doctor said. I didn't see a nurse, different from the one who'd checked me before, come in and be told to order a repeat MRI. I didn't see Pam's mouth gape open or the tears on her cheeks. '2011' flashed repeatedly in my head like neon lights on the Vegas strip.

There are 3 _years_ I have no memory of.

_Well, shit._

**Now you can push the pretty shiny review button!**


	5. Of the Dark Black Night

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, playing on Charlaine Harris' playground does not give me ownership rights. Rated M for language and lemons.**

**5. … Of the Dark Black Night**

I felt more than a little awkward trying to balance on my crutch and tie my sneaker at the same time. After a week of being prodded, poked, and scanned incessantly, I was finally going home. Or rather, to Pam's apartment. No matter what I tried, not a single one of those lost memories had returned to me. To say I was frustrated would be like saying Everest is big. So now I found myself confused, gimpy, and _hunted_.

Someone wanted me dead. We're not talking your run-of-the-mill aggravation everyone feels every day. According to the police, my accident was not an accident.

About 45 minutes after the shock of my life, Sheriff Bud Dearborn and Detective Andy Bellefleur entered my room with their hats in their hands to take my statement and deliver the next blow. The statement wasn't much since I didn't have any memory of the incident. Sheriff Dearborn did most of the talking.

"_Mr. Northman, is there any reason you can think of for someone to want to harm you?"_

"_Harm me?"_

"_We have several eyewitness accounts that say the vehicle involved in your hit-and-run made no attempts to stop. We are n the process of reviewing the traffic cameras for the area."_

"_You think someone might be trying to kill me?" I asked incredulously. What could I have possibly done in a past life to warrant the hell that has been my last hour? Maybe I was Vlad the Impaler._

"_It is a possibility."_

"_We have spoken to Dr. Ludwig and realize the situation you are in," Detective Bellefleur spoke up. "But we would appreciate any light you could shed on the case."_

"_I'm sorry, Detective. I don't remember the accident at all. I'm not sure how in depth Dr. Ludwig explained my memory loss to you. It seems the last three years are gone. It is more than possible something in that time frame could be the trigger. Nothing else is coming to mind."_

"_We understand," the sheriff conceded. He shifted his hat in his hands and handed me a business card from his shirt pocket. "Please let us know if you remember anything that could help."_

"_I will. And I hope you will keep me informed as well."_

_Dearborn nodded once in agreement and lifted his hat to his head. He gestured for Bellefleur to exit the room first and nodded again as a goodbye._

_As if I didn't have enough on my mind. Now I had to keep one eye over my shoulder wondering if or when someone would make another attempt on my life. I let my head fall back into the pillow, closed my eyes and covered them with my hand. I sighed deeply, willing my thought to slow down at least to a manageable speed. Even with this new, possibly deadly, revelation my thoughts repeatedly came back to Sookie and the apparent disaster that was my marriage. It was killing me not to know where she was, what she was doing or what happened to us. This new reality was throwing me for a loop, not even giving me a moment to assimilate myself._

_Pam opened the door softly, carrying the coffee she'd gone to find. She glanced toward me almost timidly. Pam rarely pussyfooted around anyone's feelings so her new demeanor had me even more on edge. She even looked startled when I huffed at her._

"_Alright. Out with it."_

"_What?"_

"_You're unnerving me. I've never seen you this tentative and it is yet another adjustment to get used to on top of everything else." I reached my hand out to her and patted the side of the bed my cast wasn't on. She came to sit with me, looking right into my eyes._

"_What's bothering you, Pammy?"_

_Her eyes narrowed at the childhood nickname she'd beaten me up over too many times to count. She playfully punched my shoulder and I sucked in a quick breath, faking a pained grimace. Her horrified expression had me bursting into laughter._

"_It seems my fears were unfounded," she growled as she got up to move back to the chair. "You are going to be back to normal in no time."_

"_Don't be mad. You'd have done it to me in a heartbeat."_

_Her smirk was the only indication she gave that she agreed. Her blue eyes sparkled in that way that meant payback would be a bitch._

"_Brat."_

"_Ass."_

_And my little sister is back, ladies and gentlemen. Now that most of the worry was erased from her features, I already felt a little lighter. I caught her glance and held it._

"_Pam, what happened between me and Sookie?"_

_Her face sobered but the snarky attitude stayed. _

"_You're _idiots_." She gave up on the magazine in her lap and put it back in her bag._

"_I'm gonna need a little more than that."_

"_I don't know what to tell you, Eric. You think she's better off without you and she thinks you don't love her anymore. You're both being ridiculous."_

"_How can she possibly think I don't love her?"_

"_You've spent the past year and a half in your office, only going home for sex and sleep. What is she supposed to think?"_

_My eyes widened in disbelief._

"_No. _No_, Pam. I wouldn't do that to Sookie." I shook my head as though that would make it less true. Pam watched me carefully, her eyes pitying._

"_Eric, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to come out so harshly. But it's true. You've spent so much time chasing your next business deal, the next dollar. You've taken Sookie's presence in your life for granted. You wouldn't listen to reason. You've been under the stupid impression that Sookie needs material things more than your attention."_

I couldn't even wrap my head around this. We're _happy_, damnit. I love Sookie past all logic. She is my greatest strength and greatest weakness in one curvy little package. How could I have stopped proving that to her, even for one second of one day? Well that ends now.

I pulled myself out of my thoughts and glanced at the door, waiting for Pam to come through. More than a little irritated, I gave up on tying my shoe. I just stuffed the laces inside and called it a day. I'd signed the release forms earlier. All I had to do was wait for Pam to bring her minivan around to the entrance. I pulled both crutches underneath my arms and stood up. My personal belongings were in a Ziploc bag at the foot of the bed. I opened it and dropped my keys in my pocket. As I reached for my cell, the beginnings of a plan to talk to Sookie formed in my mind.

Pam came in following a redheaded nurse with a wheelchair. The smile on Pam's face could only mean she was attempting to score. She gently touched the girl's shoulder "helping" her maneuver around the bed and I rolled my eyes. Only Pam.

The nurse moved to take the crutches from my hands but hesitated at my skeptical look. I was more than capable of making it to the car myself. She must have interpreted the look correctly since she chirped "hospital policy" cheerfully. Her turning around to help ease me into the chair gave Pam the perfect opportunity to ogle her ass. I caught her with her head tilted, unashamedly eyefucking the woman with a leer on her face. She winked when she saw me and licked her lips lasciviously.

I was rolled to the doors and took my first breath of fresh air in a week. I moved myself into the passenger seat of the van and slid my cell open. It took me a minute to figure out how the damn thing worked. Thankfully it just seemed to be an updated version of the one I remember. A few swipes of my finger and the number for the florist closest to our… I mean, Sookie's apartment came up. I ordered a single yellow hibiscus to be delivered to Sookie's home shortly after she got home from work. I signed with a large 'E' and nothing more. I needed her to call me, to meet me. This was my opening move. This past week without her had been like torture. Somehow, I had to prove to her that head injury or no, I wasn't going to consider moving forward without her with me.

**Now who saw our boy on the cover of GQ looking all smexy? I don't think the employees at Borders appreciated the puddle of drool I left behind…**


	6. I'll Leave With Every Piece of You

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, playing on Charlaine Harris' playground does not give me ownership rights. Rated M for language and lemons.**

**6. I'll Leave With Every Piece of You**

My palms were sweating profusely. No one else was here so early. There wasn't really a reason to be this nervous. Eric and Pam trusted me to take inventory at Loki's so no one was due in for another hour. With most of the lights out, every shadow looked ominous and every echo sounded thunderous. I moved slowly behind the bar as if moving too quickly would guarantee me getting caught with my hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

My heart was pounding and I had to will my hands to stop shaking as I moved closer to the register. Even though I was expecting it, the pop of the cash drawer releasing surprised me. This was almost too easy. I'm going to get caught, I know it.

_Damn it._

After this, I'll be a criminal. Whether I'd get caught or not, I'm a criminal. I don't even know how I got to this point. Online poker seemed so harmless. A diversion to help me wind down after work. In this economy, there isn't much of a demand for freelance computer programmers. Everyone and their mother seemed to have gotten licensed when the business was new. I had to get this job as bartender to stimulate my dwindling cash flow. I served drinks to get myself through college and the tips were usually good. I don't know where society is headed on this landslide but the more sullen and contemplative I seem, the more women seem to like me. It adds to the mystery, I've been told. But still, taking orders and listening to drunken whining from 5 o'clock until the bar closed at 2 am takes its toll.

I pulled $1,000 from the drawers and cursed Felipe de Castro for the ten thousandth time. I'd gotten quite proficient at online poker. Good enough to take the suggestion of a fellow player and find a local game. What I didn't know then was that the "friend" I'd met online used those forums to lure people to Felipe's live games. I won the first few rounds and, before I knew it, my wagers were growing and growing. Whenever I contemplated stopping there was a small voice in the back of my mind that told me the next bet could recoup all my losses.

It seemed like I blinked and I owed Felipe 35,000 dollars. I cleaned out my savings, sold my car, and still came up short. De Castro proved he was unwilling to negotiate when he sent his "bodyguards" Sigebert and Wybert to inform me the last $1000 I owe him was due by this Saturday, just two days from now. The Berts' presence was an implied threat. One man's thumb and forefinger could fit around my neck.

I hadn't closed the register drawer or pocketed the money yet when the door swung open and the rest of the lights flickered on. My whole body froze, even the breath in my lungs. I felt like a child who believes 'if I can't see you, you can't see me'. I heard the click of Pam's designer heels and the knowledge that I'd actually been caught seeped into my bones. It was strangely calming. I even found myself relieved that it hadn't been Eric who found me. Pam would rip my heart out relatively quickly whereas Eric would probably enjoy playing with it for a decade or two.

Pam could never be described as a friendly person. The look she gave me now, however, suggested an icicle wedged so far up her ass I could see it in her eyes.

"Well, well, well." If I didn't know better I'd say her voice was tinged with amusement. "Can I ask what you're doing, Bill?" I could tell she was waiting to see if I'd be stupid enough to answer. I put the money back and slowly pushed the drawer closed. Pam had her hand on her light pink Blackberry before I was done.

"Luna, my darling," she practically purred into the receiver. "I have a present for you here at Loki's. Bring your handcuffs."

Not even ten minutes later, two police officers showed up. The male, who introduced himself as Officer Hudson, I didn't recognize but I've seen Officer Luna Garza here making eyes at Pam many times.

Pam handed over a copy of the security feed I should have been aware we had and a few sleazy innuendoes later I found myself in the back of a squad car.

**First, the obligatory PSA: Gambling addiction can be a serious problem. www . gamblersanonymous . org might help.**

**So that was suuuper short and a bitty bit of a left turn in the plot (I'm sure at least some of you are scratching your heads over WTF it has to do with anything)… but it does serve a purpose. Pinkie swear!**


	7. And the Joke's On You

**I'm back! A day late and a dollar short but hopefully this makes up for it. I'm actually pretty nervous about this chapter just because it's sooo much different from anything I've ever written. I'm crossing my fingers that y'all like it.**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, playing on Charlaine Harris' playground does not give me ownership rights. Rated M for language and lemons. Walter's not mine either. He belongs to Jeff Dunham.**

**7. And the Joke's On You**

I dropped my handbag and shoes by my front door as soon as I walked in. When I used the inheritance money Gran left me to open a small mystery bookstore in downtown Shreveport, I had no idea how much work owning my own business would be. Without Eric's support and business savvy, I doubt I would have survived the first six months. Four years later the Cloak & Dagger was holding its own, hopefully making Gran proud. Still, there were some days I was more than happy to hand the reins over to my assistant manager, Holly. This was one of those days. I needed an extra large glass of merlot and a weeklong nap in my comfiest PJs. What I didn't need was someone ringing the doorbell. I stared at it as though it were the enemy and contemplated first: who it could be, and second: if I really cared. I'm not embarrassed to say I did the childish thing and slumped into the couch. The bell rang once more and the door still went unanswered. The week had been one incident after another, starting with the divorce then Eric's accident and ending with today's shipment of oranges instead of James Patterson's latest book. That door was a metaphor. If I opened it, reality would think it was welcome.

Nope. Not today.

o-o

I don't know if it was the stress of the day or the mammoth-sized glass of wine but I zonked out the second my head hit the pillow. Eight and a half hours of blissful nothingness. After a shower and a quick round of morning breath versus Colgate, I was feeling better then I had in a long time. A glance at the clock told me I didn't have to be at the shop for a few hours. I donned a pair of denim cutoffs and a white tee. June in Louisiana was way to hot for much else. I found one sandal by the nightstand and one by the closet. I needed to drop by the bank then thought I'd spend the morning with Lafayette. My handbag was by the front door where I'd dropped it the night before and I was on my way. When I stepped out and turned to lock the lock the deadbolt behind me, something brushed against my foot. I looked down and shock slowed my heartbeat to virtual nonexistence. As unassumingly as possible, a flower lay on my doormat. A yellow hibiscus, to be exact. I stared at it blankly for a long moment, bracing myself for a maelstrom of emotion. Instead, the only thing to come was a wistful smile. It kind of surprised the hell out of me. I reached down to pick it up, flipping over the attached note but knowing instinctively what it said.

And there it was. Nothing but a neatly scrolled 'E'. I looked up and down the empty hallway as if it would whisper back to me. Who left this? Had Eric been here? Was this the result of the doorbell I'd ignored yesterday? Not surprisingly, the hallway had no answers. I brought the golden bloom up to my nose and inhaled its fresh scent. The edges were darkened, probably from being out all night with without water, but it didn't fail to coax pleasant memories to the forefront of my mind.

My first meeting with Eric could _generously_ be termed a disaster, romantically speaking. What obviously passed for charming in his bimbo-filled world, came across as practiced, unimaginative, and just plain sleazy. I wondered if "Can I buy you breakfast?" actually worked for him. If I hadn't been so affronted, it would have made me sad to know there were so many girls out there whose Grans hadn't taught them that a place in a lady's heart and bed could not be bought by a few drinks and an inviting smile. But, damn what a smile it was. There was no way not to notice the gorgeous man on the altar-like stage as soon as you entered Loki's Playground. He was lord and master of all he saw. Every woman in the place (and some of the men) either consciously or unconsciously vied for his attention. I was getting a few curious looks and many more jealous glares just for our brief conversation. I had noticed his eyes on my before he ever took a step in my direction and it had quickened my heart rate more than I'd care to admit. I tried to appear unconcerned with his interest but the longer he looked, the lower that beat pulsed. My lady bits were hosting their own Mardi Gras. But that was before he'd ever opened his mouth. By the time Amelia and I left Loki's, I'd have loved nothing more than to shower Eric's slime off of me. A week passed and I put the whole incident behind me.

Apparently Eric hadn't.

He showed up at the front door of Gran's old farmhouse in Bon Temps, where Amelia and I were living at the time, with a dozen roses. He was even more gorgeous in the sunlight than he had been at the club. He cleaned up well in nice jeans and a blue button down shirt that simultaneously set the blue off in his eyes and contrasted the subtle gold in his hair. That became the first chink in my armor. As tempted as I was to slam the door in his face, there was something new in his demeanor that held me off. He took my one step's worth of hesitation and paved a 4-lane highway. His presence began to fill every facet of my life until I didn't know how to untwine us, until I wouldn't have it any other way. After I'd laid into him about the expense of a dozen roses the first time, he started to send me just one yellow hibiscus flower every time he wanted me to know he was thinking of me.

Why would he send me this now? With my thoughts racing, I sniffed the bloom once last time and made my way down to the lobby. I hopped into my car, with the flower riding shotgun and made my way into the heart of town.

The bank was quick and painless but it was still a relief to walk through the threshold of Laf's bakery. The atmosphere always reminded me of the comfort of Gran's and the smell of fresh baked goodies only added to that. You know, if Gran's kitchen had pinstripes of purple sequins on one of the walls and "Dancing Queen" playing in the background. I ordered an iced cappuccino and a muffin from the cute guy behind the counter and, after asking him to let Laf know I was here, took a seat. Laf made it a priority to hire the most gorgeous, albeit slightly dim ones in the lot. His kitchen should have had a revolving door. Jesus (according to his nametag) came back a second later and signaled Laf would just be a minute. That was no problem, I had one of his awesome cinnamon and sugar muffins to keep me company. I washed down my first buttery bite with a swig of coffee when Laf entered the main floor. And I do mean _entered_ in the most Liza Minelli sense of the word. His black dew rag, muscle shirt, and jeans were standard. The purple eyeshadow and hot pink feather boa on the 6'2" muscular black man were probably what caused most people to stop and do a double take.

"Homo." The muttered word had my head swirling around to face behind me. the man sitting at that table was wearing a bright blue Walmart vest. The expression on his face screamed "curmudgeon". He was probably in his sixties and balding. He might remind me of a sweet old grandfather if he'd smile. He, however, took me back to my Gran telling me as a child that the frown on my face would "stay that way" one day if I didn't stop pouting. He hadn't looked up from his newspaper though, so I righted myself and _hoped_ I was just hearing things. Lafayette made his way over to me with a not-so-subtle sashay in his hips, most likely for Jesus' benefit since he was not-so-subtly watching.

"Sookie!" He leaned over my table to kiss my cheek then gracefully relaxed himself into the seat across from me. "How's life?"

"Nothing big. Work stuff. Divorce. Eric's accident. More work stuff. And this." I picked the flower I'd brought in with me and waved it a little. I held the note out to him and he snatched it from my grip.

"Oh Sugar…" The frown on his glossed lips was the last thing I needed to see. I took a deep breath and let it all out quickly.

"What do I do, Laf?"

"Mm mm mm mm mm," he tsked. "I can't decide that for you, honeychild. What ch'you wanna do?"

"I don't know. What does that mean even mean? Does he want to talk to me? See me? Is this a near-death-experience booty call?"

"Yum! The best kind." His posture perked right up at the mention of sex.

"You said the same thing last week about make-up sex."

"Yum! The best kind." He waggled his eyebrows at me.

"Horny bastard." Now THAT I heard.

This time I stood and whirled my entire body to face the old man seated at the next table. My mouth was still gaping in astonishment when Lafayette started chuckling. I turned my "are you crazy?" look on him.

"Sooks, sit yo' big ass down." He kicked my chair out a bit more for emphasis then waved the end of his boa in the other man's direction. _My ass is not big._ _It's just not _small_. _"Walter here is all bark and no bite. He's in here every mornin' hidin' from his wife."

I was a little skeptical but sat anyway.

Laf centered his attention on the man. "So where is the wife today?"

"Shopping. With her shrew sister. Spending my money. Complaining about me. Having a good time, as always." He paused then muttered. "Pisses me off."

Laf rolled his eyes so that his eyeshadow glittered in the lights and turned back to me. He looked pointedly down at the flower. I groaned, laid my head on the table, and covered it with my arms. I allowed myself to hide for just a few more seconds then peeked out. Laf had crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, still waiting for an answer.

"I can't do it. I can't call him."

"Nuh uh. That's not what I asked you, hooka. What you _wants_ ta do?"

I sighed and cast my eyes down to my lap. "I want my happily ever after."

"Well then there's only one way to get it. Eric still loves you. He just ain't never been able to resist givin' those big blue eyes of yours anything he thinks you want. And you did ask for the divorce, if I remembers correctly."

"He didn't have time for me anymore! He couldn't put me before his money and his business so I gave him an easy out. And he took it."

"Oh good _God_." And here I'd almost forgotten Walter was there. I braced myself for whatever he had to say next.

"Even I can see you're still in love with this guy. And I think we all know you're going to call him eventually. Yet you're sitting here whining. Wah-wah-wah. It seems the wheel is turning but the hamster's _dead_. Any dumbass can sit here, drink pretentious coffee, and cry. _He doesn't love me but I love him. _Well la-di-frickin'-da. Get off your ass and prove it."

"So what do you suggest? I drag him home then spend the rest of my life wondering if that'll be the day he leaves again?"

"Beats sittin' around here ruining the rest of my day."

_If looks could kill…_

"Listen, Sooks," Lafayette interjected. "Surliness aside, boyfriend's got a point." He pulled my handbag off the chair and began rummaging around for something. His deep purple polished fingers emerged with my cell phone. He flipped it open and held the number 2 key down so it would activate the speed dial for Eric's cell and handed it to me.

"See what the man has to say."

I panicked but took the phone from him anyway. Even if I hung up now, my name would still appear on his caller ID. I snatched my bag back from Lafayette and contemplated (only briefly, I swear) using it to wipe the smirk off his face. I called him a meddling bitch as I walked toward the door. Gran probably rolled over in her grave at my "fresh" language. I was halfway out, with the phone still ringing, when he shouted "That's Mistress Meddling Bitch to you!"

**To see Walter in action, you HAVE TO check out Jeff's act on YouTube. The links are on my profile. If nothing else, it'll give you a face to put with the sarcasm.**

**::Peeks out from behind my laptop:: So? Comments?**


End file.
